


Miss-placed Anger

by Lyrakish



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, look what you made me do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 18:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12393597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrakish/pseuds/Lyrakish
Summary: Inspired by Misconduct by FiveTail and Antiloquist. 76 done fucked up, tell him what for! Or not.





	Miss-placed Anger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FiveTail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiveTail/gifts), [Antiloquist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiloquist/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Misconduct](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572498) by [Antiloquist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiloquist/pseuds/Antiloquist), [FiveTail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiveTail/pseuds/FiveTail). 



Perhaps you should have waited a little longer to confront him. Not a question, a statement, and a big one considering how quickly you were pounding towards the Infirmary. Zarya had tried to stand in your way, asking for patience. “Give him time, he was acting in best interest for the team.” That had been her surprisingly gentle reasoning. She soon stepped aside at your stormy look. For all of your short stature your face was an open book of emotion. ‘Get out of my way, or I’ll move you’ was unsaid between you two. Angela had warned not to get his blood pressure up, or give him a hard time, because he had just woken up and needed the rest.

Oh he’d have some rest, after you had ripped him a new one. Alongside the ‘new one’ in his gut, a little to the left of his navel. Oh, you knew exactly where that damn bullet wound was. It was you screaming for aid, all the while pressing both your hands over the sizable new bellybutton he was sporting. You knew why he’d done it, taking the bullet for you. Some heroic bullshit that he could take the hit, that he had the SEP and you didn’t. No you just had to kneel there while he bled out, begging him to hold on, to not leave you like that. How embarrassing. Worse was waiting the nearly thirty hours to get back to base, wait for his wound to be tended to in surgery, and then sleep for the rest of the time. All the while, it was there knocking in the back of your brain.

_ ‘You almost lost someone you care about. Like a lot. Here, have all the pain in the world. Just think about your life without him now.  _ **_You’re welcome_ ** _.’ _

The doors to the Infirmary couldn’t have come quicker, just as the heat from unshed tears started to threaten again. You’d cried enough over this whole thing, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that you were worried about him. Moron. Bastard. Selfish prick. All the words that could describe him right now, caused by him being a damn martyr once more. Swirling and ready to empty from your mouth as soon as you saw him. Heavy steps towards the screen hiding his bed. He was in for the telling off of his life.

Till the screen was moved by your tentative hand. Sat up, in crisp mint green sheets and a matching woolen blanket, propped up by a fluffy white pillow. Those eyes. The brilliant blue was enhanced by the hue of the room, and a soft smile on his features. Trust him to engage the first time you saw his face when you were holding his innards in place and crying over his potential death. Those damn eyes, looking at you like he would in your dreams. Eyes, crinkling slightly as he smiled wider at your dumbfounded face.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” His voice grated like gravel, sounding wrecked and tired. Not for the first time you heard what he sounded like when he first woke after a hard won battle. All the time you spent together, and it sounded like a chorus.

“Just a smidge,” your reply was just as rough sounding. You hadn’t spoken a word since seeing him off for surgery. Add in the constant sobbing and screaming into the ether, to him it probably compared to a cement mixer in a busy town.

Silence fell between you both. It was then you realised you’d not stepped a further foot into his little recovery space, still clutching the screen with one hand. You released it and pulled it back around for privacy sake, knowing the man in front of you hated others seeing not only his face but any sign of weakness. There was a wooden chair perched next to his bed, his signature coat hung up on the back of it. Cleaned, you noticed. Angela and her caring nature, how kind. You sat down gently, the creak of the wood echoing in the Infirmary. Empty, bar you two. The air grew awkward. What were you going to say again? Tell him off for saving your life? Perhaps bring up that elephant in the room, the one that stood between you two and the chemistry there. You knew there was...something, between the two of you. A partnership for the battlefield? Maybe it was just an intense trust from him, that was why you worked together so well?

Or maybe it was that lump of muscle in your chest cavity that leapt out whatever he did. Blue eyes followed you to the chair, his head side on to you, laid against the pillow. He looked older, somehow. That could have been seeing the whole picture for once, lines and all. The scarring that you knew was there of course, but how far it went was another surprise. The familiarity was a jolt, like he’s been in your thoughts before. To be honest though, he was handsome just like you imagined he would have been in all those fantasies. The smile was still there, lessened as he seemed to be dozing now. Glad you had turned up? Maybe. Or the morphine, you could see the IV line in one arm leading to a bag above his head. More likely.

A mumble from him, and his other arm slipped out from under the sheets and searched for you. Immediately you took his hand and intertwined your fingers together. He wouldn’t remember this, if he did you could pass it off as a fever dream. He cleared his throat and tried again when you didn’t react to his mumble. “M’sorry. For worrying you,” so soft and far away. It tugged your heartstrings, jumping into your throat and making those tears well up again. Damn him.

“I forgive you,” you replied with a heavy sigh. Well there goes your angry tirade, might as well swing with it. “I thought you were-” your breathing hitched and you used your hand not in his to press your balled fist against your lips. “I thought I’d lose you.” It rushed out in an almost whisper. You hoped he had heard it, and perhaps not.

He shifted and looked at you properly, eyes glinting. Was he getting misty eyed? “I thought the same, sweetheart.” He closed those eyes and squeezed your hand tightly. Shaking with the effort. The tremor went up his arm and to his shoulders, pressing his face into the pillows so you could only see from his cheek to the nape of his neck. The tremors became rhythmic, like those of silent sobs.

Your traitorous heart broke and you stood in a rush, curling over him in an almost parody of when he was bleeding out, and held him in your embrace. “I’d say don’t do it again, but I’d do the same for you. A hundred times over.” Your voice was cracking now, in for a penny you supposed. His arm, minus the IV, pushed you back a little. Confusion dotted your features as you stepped back, only to come to realisation when you saw him peel the sheets back to invite you in. He was in boxers, and the rest was bare. As you slipped your shoes off and slid into the warm bed (he was a furnace when it came to body heat) you caught sight of the gauze taped to his side. You made a note not to jostle him too much. As you laid down he turned to face you and gathered you into his arms, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. Startled, you stayed still for a second, before enveloping him in your arms and pressing your nose into his baby-fine, white hair. 

Little by little you both adjusted so that one of your legs was entangled between his, and he had his arm under your head like a pillow. You both had your ‘moment’ with emotion, which soon petered out into soft touches and mumbled apologies. 

He’d moved his head up a little, so you were eye level. The words you wanted to say were caught behind the lump in your throat. Your traitorous heart seemed to have lost some steam and didn’t want to confess any more. Soldier nudged against your temple with his nose, closed eyes and breathing softly. Your heart rate rose as he shifted to kiss the top of your head and nuzzle into your hair. Maybe...no. No that wasn’t going to happen. And yet, while your brain told you this was a farce and nothing would happen, your hands acted alone. Your hand that had been rested upon his hip, just below the offending wound, escaped from the sheets and slowly gravitated to his cheek. Soft skin, with the scars and some wrinkles of age, graced your fingertips. His sharp intake of breath was loud in the otherwise silent room. You followed the track of a scar by feel alone, not bothering to tilt your head to see where you were touching. His lips kissed a little further down, to your temple, and then to between your eyes. 

Your name was whispered so softly from him, and when you reacted, turning upwards to him, he closed the distance and kissed you. Velvet soft, hardly there. Your eyes had stayed closed, lost in the moment. Seconds, moments, all rushed forwards as your hand strayed from their exploration of his face to the nape of his neck. Your fingers swept through the short hair there and slid upwards into the thicker strands. The arm you were using as a pillow curled around your middle and he tugged you ever closer, if that was possible. He pulled away a little, resting his forehead on yours and looking into your eyes like nothing else mattered. In your mind, nothing else did. 

“Commander...I-” you started but couldn’t finish. He kissed you again, a little more forceful now. Parting your lips with his tongue and deepening the whole experience. This kiss was shorter, with him pulling away a little further so you could see his full expression. Warm, gentle, and maybe some pride thrown in there.

“Call me Jack,” he rumbled. “I owe you that much.”

In the next few moments you put the pieces together and knew right then who he was, who he was hiding, and perhaps why. No wonder his face was familiar, you had admired his poster and all the work Overwatch did from a young age. 

However, you didn’t express your epiphany. Instead you curled into his warmth and left many things unsaid. Who needed to verbally express love, when you could show them.

**Author's Note:**

> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8572498 
> 
> This here forced my hand. How dare. Never written anything this fluffy for public reading. Be gentle ;_; Kudos and comments make Jack's voice deeper, do it.


End file.
